


The Closet

by TopHat



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Choking, F/F, Fingerfucking, It's all safe I promise, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHat/pseuds/TopHat
Summary: Yo what if Rebecca from Life Bends Down by Pericardium wanted to watch Jacob and Phillip bang?





	The Closet

**"This is ridiculous," said Contessa, drawing her elbow back. "I'm leaving now."**

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**"You can't!" Rebecca protested. She paused to push the door open a crack with a finger. "Also, you don't have to break it down. It's not locked."**

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**"Even better. I don't see any reason why we should have to stew in here until they finish their... fornicating."**

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**Contessa gestured uncomfortably at the sliver of light passing through the crack, and Rebecca peeked out.**

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**"I think Philip's finishing," she said. "Wait. Never mind, Jacob was just teasing. I couldn't tell because of the ring around his commmf--!"**

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**Contessa covered Rebecca's mouth with her hand, cutting her off. The other hand wrapped around the nape of Rebecca's neck to hold her still.**

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**Rebecca's eyes widened. They were already pressed up against each other in the cramped space, but she took a step forward. Her eyes kept darting to the crack in the door.**

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**Outside, Jacob let out a laboured grunt, and there was a rustle as Philip twisted the sheets beneath him.**

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**Contessa felt Rebecca's breathing speed up on cue, noted that her skin was flushing warm from the contact. "So that's why you want to stay," she murmured, tightening her grip on the back of Rebecca's neck. "You like to watch."**

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**Rebecca made a muffled sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. She was shaking a little.**

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**"Promise you'll be quiet."**

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**She nodded fiercely.**

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**Contessa took her hand off her mouth to slip it between Rebecca's legs.**

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Contessa knew she could trust Rebecca. She could trust the girl to upset any plans which contained her, which unfortunately described her and Contessa’s shared position in Phillip’s closet while he and Jacob engaged in coitus.

Unlike the trip to the mall however, the consequence of being caught in such a voyeuristic position could not be solved by a single reasonably-convincing lie. Should Phillip learn that his closet held a pair of women while he let Jacob recreationally sodomize him, it could irreparably damage the admittedly-thin boundary between Contessa’s professional and personal lives.

The possibility that Jack would find out didn’t bear considering.

"Hush," Contessa said, tracing her finger around an odd damp spot and sliding Rebecca's underwear down her leg. Fortunately Rebecca seemed to understand her plan and helpfully stepped out of them, allowing Contessa to take the lacy fabric between her toes and tugged it away from Rebecca’s feet. 

The next moments would be critical.

A particularly anguished gasp escaped Phillip as Jacob did something unspeakable and unthinkable to him, and Contessa felt Rebecca tense against her. She took her hand away, letting the other girl take a full breath of air, then flicked the snatch-covering from her foot, snatched it out of the air, and shoved it into Rebecca's mouth.

The shuder in Rebecca's shoulders went still, even as the wet slapping motions began coming more quickly.

"I can't trust you on your own, and this was the best way to keep you quiet," Contessa said. Rebecca had consistently demonstrated the impulse control of a chronic gambler with a hoarding problem, and using her own nylons would've been substantially more difficult. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Rebecca nodded furiously against the gag, to which Contessa frowned. The whole point of the gag had been to minimize the chances the two of them would be detected, and excess movement would simply replace one hazard with another.

Clearly, more drastic measures were in order.

Contessa slid her other free arm around Rebecca’s throat, a triangle that rested on both carotid arteries, and tilted back. Not enough to actually cut things off, but enough to “Keep still.”

That, and Contessa didn’t want to choke Rebecca.

Just make her a little light-headed.

While ensuring that the hold on Rebecca didn’t completely cut off the blood flow to her candy-cane brain, Contessa looked dispassionately over the soft, temptingly-kissable shoulder in front of her, trying to understand the appeal of the other sight before her. Phillip had the build of a man who regularly stripped banks of all their electronic assets during his squat, pull-up, and rowing routine performed at a standing desk, while Jacob looked like a high school athlete who had yet to learn that the real world mostly didn’t care about how high your score on the Pacer test was but refused to let that number drop below anyone else's.

Contessa understood that each writhing body stood as a testament to the variety of attractive forms men could take, and at no point did that understanding deepen. She’d seen enough literature on attraction to know that wondering at the precise volume of blood in Phillip’s unusually-engorged member did not speak of arousal, nor were fantasies Jacob’s knife-like jawline shattering into a spray of white and red chunks from the perfectly-timed impact of a corked baseball bat erotic to most. The steady pistoning of Jacob’s posterior did not strike her as any more or less reprehensible than any other action he took, and all she could see in Phillip’s shaking and grunting form was effort wasted on a man who couldn’t understand anything that he didn’t destroy.

Instead of contemplating the fornication further, Contessa turned her attention to the girl in her arms.

Whatever aspect of the scene escaped Contessa, Rebecca seemed to have fully grasped. Her body was a story of motion, of minute twitches under Rebecca’s skirt that rubbed Rebecca’s cheeks against Contessa’s thigh, a racing heartbeat that Constessa could feel through both of their too-thin shirts, and deep, ragged breaths that came perfectly in time with the clenching and unclenching of her fists.

The indigestion came back, then quietly accepted its beating and left when Contessa did the math and realized that an antsy Rebecca plus a pair of horny men about to orgasm one point two times total would make for an extremely rapid discovery. Then it came back again when Rebecca’s hand drifted to Contessa’s thigh, Rebecca’s rear began to grind against her, and Rebecca’s breathing moved into ‘panting’ territory.

While an increasingly-large part of Contessa’s mind began quarantining itself into a massive zone of want, the other rapidly-diminishing section searched for solutions. Improvisation and Rebecca went together like intercourse and proper contraceptive use, and while Contessa didn’t enjoy learning how to apply dental dams she’d faithfully practiced on a plastic simulacrum until she could lick both vaginal and anal orafices without fear of infection.

Compared to nearly cutting her tongue on an artificially-firm labia minora, finding proper restraints for a horny college student in the wardrobe of an inside-trader was practically soothing.

Contessa tightened her hold on Rebecca’s throat, then struck out for Phillip’s neckwear rack. Two tenths of a second to select a garment, half a second to secure a loop around the wrist of the hand Rebecca had under her skirt, a little more to properly tie a slip-knot one-handed around it, followed by a few seconds of fumbling to perform a similar procedure with the other end of the tie.

One second for Contessa to yank at the loose ends of the restraints, hard, and trap both of Rebecca’s hands behind her thigh, and then Contessa could put her hand back over Rebecca’s mouth and loosen the chokehold again.

“Do you want to get caught?” she hissed in Rebecca’s ear. Then, remember Rebecca’s first response, added, “Don’t answer that. I know what goes through your mind, and letting you express it in the first place was a mistake. I never should’ve let you decide what we’d do tonight.”

While contemplating the next set of chastising remarks, Contessa discovered the flaws with her plan. Though binding Rebecca’s hands had successfully stopped her from spreading her own secretions further, it had also given her a different target.

Specifically, Contessa.

Now Rebecca was arching her back, straining against Contessa’s hold, at once keeping far too much of her ass against Contessa’s leg and forcing Contessa to arch with her lest the chokehold fail. Rebecca’s wrists moved with her, going up and up Contessa’s thigh until it began to approach organs best left untouched until marriage. Snapping her legs shut temporarily halted the advance, but then Rebecca began keening.

Contessa’s mind raced, searching for a solution, and on an impulse from the near-majority thoughtcrime raging against discipline inside her head, Contessa pulled her hand out of Rebecca’s half-full mouth and went down to her other set of lips.

This time it was Rebecca’s legs with closed ineffectual, even while her hips bucked towards Contessa’s hand.

Normally Contessa took the time to examine the teeth of any freely-given equestrian but desperate times demanded desperate measures.

She traced one complete circuit around Rebecca’s entrance, then dipped it inside her. “Stay quiet and I’ll give you more.”

When Contessa felt Rebecca’s breath catch in her throat, she inserted a second finger.

Instruments. After the first two motions, Contessa thought of instruments. Producing the right notes, producing them in sequence, that had been easy. Early on with Doctor Mother she’d learned how to play strings, woodwinds, and the brass section of the orchestra. That had simply been a matter of learning the proper breathing patterns, memorizing positions, and learning the notation. She’d been hailed as a prodigy, and received a rare smile from Doctor Mother.

When asked to compose and perform something on her own, the caterwauling that she’d come up with had received only an awkward pat on the shoulder and a politely disappointed frown that starved Contessa of any desire whatsoever to continue pursuing the musical arts.

Now she wished she’d kept up with it. Perhaps then she’d know which shivers demanded a change in angle, which clenches meant that she was doing something right, which faltering breaths meant that Rebecca wanted more. Each noise, none verbal, all significant, were alien to Contessa, a language from a land she knew not and had only sometimes considered traveling to, and now desperately wished for fluency in.

She did her best. Contessa found the motions that made Rebecca tense, remembered them, and began forming a pattern. Stroke, circle, curl, then experiment. Use what worked, then tentatively add more, and leave behind the failures. Contessa pulled Rebecca tighter when she began sagging her arms, leaning back against the wall to take weight off Rebecca’s quivering legs. A third finger slipped in, part of readjusting her grip, and when Rebecca let out a twice-strangled groan Contessa left it in.

All the while Contessa forced herself to ignore the steadily-growing pool of heat and indigestion in her stomach, clamping down hard on the sensation and trying to keep her focus on the wet, filthy mess in her arms.

“What, precisely, do you find pleasing about this? Why can I keep you quiet with a few fingers but not with pages and pages of well-reasoned arguments? It’s because you’re an idiot, isn’t it?”

“You can’t even stand on your own. You always need me to pick you up, to dig you out of the holes you find yourself in, and to clean up the chaos you leave in your wake. Hurricane Rebecca, with all the grace a subtlety of a bitch in the heat.”

“Three. Not one. Not two. Three. I shouldn’t be shocked, not with the size of the toy you used in front of me, but I am. How much do you practice in order to take so much? Should I start demanding you keep track?”

Words spilled from Contessa’s mouth, only half understood, barely whispers, barely audible over the increasingly-rapid creak of bedsprings. She’d long since stopped paying attention to whatever Jacob and Phillip were doing, except insofar as Rebecca’s positioning remained such that she could see the action.

“You knew exactly what was going to happen tonight. You knew the risk of getting caught, and you wanted to do it anyway. You like the danger.”

Contessa tightened the loop of muscle around Rebecca’s neck a fraction more, enough to bring Rebecca’s head back exactly as far as it could.

“If you wanted to be bound and helpless while everyone around you fucked, all you had to do was ask.”

The next few seconds were strange.

Rebecca spasmed. At first Contessa was worried she was having a stroke, but then took solace in the fact that her mouth was already filled with something to prevent her from swallowing her tongue. That and the sudden gush of non-urine fluids over her palm didn’t match any list of symptoms Contessa knew.

Then her legs gave out. Contessa managed to get her hand out of Rebecca and her arms under Rebecca’s armpits, holding her up while Rebecca mumbled incoherently. An unusual display of less-than-verbose vocalization by the girl, one which did not become more coherent when Contessa pulled the panties out of her mouth.

Distantly, Contessa recognized that Jacob had growled something, that the bed springs had stopped, and that Phillip was now taking off the ring around his penis while Jack slept swaddled in blankets. The scene outside seemed less important than the near-comatose creature in her arms however, and thus was regulated to a lower plane of processing.

“Are you okay, Rebecca?” Contessa whispered, discreetly trying to wipe her hand off on one of Phillip’s Oxford cloth shirts.

The noise Rebecca made had no clear meaning. When Contessa tried gently tapping her face, Rebecca leaned into the contact, more incoherent sounds slipping out. Another impulse made Contessa shove her fluid-covered hand into that mouth, but when she went to seize Rebecca’s tongue she found it occupied licking at Contessa’s fingers.

Good enough.

Once she was sure Phillip had successfully cried himself to sleep, Contessa guided the slightly-more-lucid Rebecca out of the closet and into Phillip’s living room. There she took off Rebecca’s skirt, wiped away the dried fluids underneath, and took a double dose of Pepto Bismol. After washing her hands thoroughly, she called up an Uber, put Rebcca’s clothes back on, and directed the two of them out the door.

On the way down the elevator, she felt Rebecca stir against her. “Did you mean that?”

Contessa ran through the one-sided dialogue she’d had with Rebecca and considered the raw number of claims she’d made about the girl. “I meant a lot of it.”

“Would you really... go out in public? And do this?”

Contessa opened her mouth to reply.

“If I asked?”

The reply caught in her throat and Contessa considered the problem.

The logistics of getting near enough to see recreation reproduction while remaining concealed enough to perform such activity would be daunting. Contessa would need to acquire the locations of numerous individuals with healthy, active sex lives, the rough time and place such meetings would occur, then find a way to conceal both herself and Rebecca.

Too many variables to accomplish with any degree of consistency or safety.

Rebecca shifted against her.

“Yes,” Contessa said. “Anytime you asked.”

Something soft brushed against Constessa’s face, and Contessa could feel her pupils dilate in response.

“‘Kay. Gonna sleep now.”

By the time the plain white Prius pulled up, Rebecca had moved to a piggy back position on Contessa’s back. Her legs occasionally kicked mid-sleep, hair hanging over her face and sheltering her from the gentle light of the streetlamps. Getting her into the car was an exercise of caution, of ensuring that her dreams remained untroubled and her eyes unopened. This eventually led to bucking a seatbelt over both of them in the backseat, bracing her shoes against the back of the passenger seat to ensure safety, and gesturing at the driver with a switchblade when he opened his mouth to complain about damage to his vehicle.

Once the details were settled, they pulled out of the parallel parking position and started for the college. Slowly, as not to wake Rebecca while running over potholes.

At no point did Rebecca do anything other than cling to Contessa like a drowning woman to an unsecured life jacket, and at no point did Contessa let go of her hand.


End file.
